


The Misfortunes of Simon Petrikov

by lovinglydull



Category: Adventure Time
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Memory Loss, Mental Breakdown, Mushroom War, No Sex, Other, Post-Apocalypse, Pre-Ooo, Prequel, Psychological Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-02
Updated: 2013-01-23
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:56:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovinglydull/pseuds/lovinglydull
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Ice King is a bumbling, if not likeable, villain of Ooo. But he wasn't always like this. The crazy old man was once a studier of antiques named Simon Petrikov. It was through a long, terrible, and unfortunate series of events that he has become the shell of a man he is today. And this? This is a record of those events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I'm aware that pre-Ooo fanfiction ain't the most inspired thing one can put on AO3. But I had inspiration for it, and decided to write it, anyways. Until the show inevitably Josses this entire thing, this is my take on Simon Petrikov's history.
> 
> Chapter 1 is lackluster, but it's necessary to set up the action. Chapter 3 is where things start going downhill nad don't crawl back up again.

Simon Petrikov has had many misfortunes within his long life. But the vast majority of these misfortunes can be traced back to a time, in Sweden, when he had wished for an important discovery, and ended up receiving much, much more. A chance encounter would change his life, and the lives of many others, for centuries to come.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Enclosed lies the beginning of the misfortunes of Simon Petrikov.

Simon stood, peering down at his watch, on a dock in the city of Karlskrona. The bright veneer of enthusiasm and vigor that had come from his time in university hadn’t yet been stripped by the ravages of time. But his patience, of course, was being stripped away by the long wait for the man who had promised him a grand discovery. He’d promised him said discovery nearly an hour ago, and as far as Simon knew, he’d simply made the whole thing up just to say he had a foreigner miss his ship over a fictitious crown. This idea sunk in, and just as Simon was going to walk away, he heard the heavy stomp of boots.

He turned, looking to the erstwhile dockworker who had contacted him. But his eyes were led downwards, to the object in his hands.

It was coated in muck and debris, the perils of sitting in the mud for so long. What struck Simon wasn’t the grime of the crown. What struck him, instead, was its cleanliness. Other than the muck, and a few spots where algae had attached, the crown looked relatively unblemished, especially considering its stay in the sea. He knew what the sea did to anything metal.

Simon felt some sort of instinctual fear, as the dock worker was not particularly taking care with the artifact, and so he reached over and gingerly plucked it from the Scandinavian man’s grip. Turning it over in his hands, Simon’s awe seemed to double at the fact that this crown contained no holes or dings or scratches that were readily apparent. It’s like the thing was forged yesterday, and a coating of mud slathered upon it. Which is precisely what he was afraid of.

He didn’t voice his concerns out loud, though. He merely smiled and put the crown upon his belt before turning back up to the dockworker.

“Thank you. Do you want any money? I’m sure this must have troubled you.”

The Scandinavian man shook his head, giving his own, somewhat insincere smile. “No trouble, no trouble. Simply take crown away, and I am happy.”

Odd. Fishing an artifact out of the sea and just giving it to a nearby antiquarian definitely seemed like trouble. Or at least like an inconvenience. Certainly worth spotting him a krona. Simon looked back down at the crown. Now that he thought about it… he wasn’t told to just take it. He was told to take it away.

“Say, you seem to have an aversion to this crown. Care to elab…”

As Simon lifted his head, he saw the dock worker already a good distance away, running at a brisk pace. Curious.

Nevertheless, Simon got what he came for. If it was an artifact, he’d get more funding. If it was a forgery, then hey, he had another curio to share with Betty. But still, the way he’d received it gave him suspicions.

Suspicions which were summarily turned aside as he heard the fog horn of the ship he was on.

Simon, just as the dock worker had rushed away from him, hastily made his way towards his way out of Karlskrona, out of Sweden in general, and back home. Blissfully unaware of the long, tragic road in front of him.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a small trip to Karlskrona, Simon has the Ice Crown. He's tearing his hair out trying to get to the bottom of it. Luckily, Betty's here to calm him down. But it's not long until the first in a long string of misfortunes hits Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This contains the most romance you will get in this entire fanfiction. The rest of it will be pain.

Simon blinked, still looking over the collection of manuscripts he’d scrounged up. Lately, it was getting harder to concentrate. He felt tired, like sleep was becoming less satisfying to him, and occasional bouts of joint pain. The sailors who took him to Sweden had said that the sea wasn’t always healthy for a man, but they were talking in a matter of months, years. It seemed like this new-found atrophy had started overnight for him.

Word upon word, it all seemed to blur and become out-of-focus. Strange. Did he need to have his prescription checked? Or was it some side-effect of his recent palled state? Whatever it was, it was making studying this crown tiresome.

Simon glanced at the crown, a thing of what appeared to be gold, which seemed to have the properties of a more solid, inflexible metal. Three garnets inset in the front. Rather large gems, considering the size of an average natural gemstone and how much would be cut off to make them this pure in appearance but that wasn’t the weird part about them. What was weird was something that Simon thought was, at first, an illusion.

Every time he turned the lights off in his apartment, it seemed like the gems were glowing. Lambent bacteria trapped in the stone? Perhaps the light reflecting off of them through the window? He wasn’t sure about the answer, but he was sure that it happened. This crown wasn’t normal. Or… was he not normal?

As Simon began to contemplate the nature of the crown even further he was startled by the sound of his apartment’s door creaking open. He turned around with a start, and smiled upon a familiar and lovely sight. Betty walks in, hair mussed up, bags under her eyes, a stack of papers and books slung under one arm.

Simon stood and walked over to her. “So, Princess, how was that big symposium? Get any big science done there?”

Betty walked towards the table, adjusting the papers every few steps. “I met some interesting people, and I’m that much closer to finishing my thesis on the chemical synthesis of biological material, so I’d say it was a smashing success, Simon. Can you help me with these?”

Simon, as intrigued as he was by it all, didn’t understand even half of the science talk that Betty regularly pulled out. But he did understand that papers could be deceptively heavy. He nodded, taking half the prodigious stack of papers, and Betty took a spot on the end of the table opposite of Simon’s own research. They both set each half of the stack down, and Simon walked over to his chair, taking a seat and focusing on the manuscripts he had dug up.

“So, Simon, is that crown from your trip to Scandinavia? You getting any juicy secrets on it?”

Betty, pulling a pen out of her pocket and began the process of sifting through and completing the paperwork she was stuck with.

Simon grumbled over the crown and manuscripts, eyes bloodshot from the past few sleep-deprived nights of poring over and deciphering ancient texts, all in the name of the crown before him.

“It doesn’t make sense, Betty. Too much evidence for it to be a hoax, too little to prove it’s real, and absolutely no idea where it came from! It’s almost as bad as those vases I found in Mongolia. Remember when I—”

Simon was cut short by a sudden weight on his shoulder. Startled, he looked up, and saw Betty’s face. Her eyes filled with concern, a frown to her features.

“Simon, you’re tearing yourself apart over this. It’s a crown. If it turns out to be a hoax, it won’t be the end of the world.”

Simon cast his eyes down. Hew couldn’t help but feel a bit ashamed. Was he acting that obsessive over it? Yeah, he needed another breakthrough to keep his grants coming, but it wasn’t worth putting that much stress on the one he loved.

Simon straightened up in his chair, head still hanging. Betty gave him a reassuring smile, lifted his head, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. And with that, the anxiety seemed to melt out of him.

Simon stood, taking the crown in his hands.

“You know what? You’re right. Besides, what’s the use of a crown when the people who would wear it aren’t even here anymore?”

Betty chuckled, playfully poking Simon in the chest.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. You do have a princess around.”

Simon returned the laugh, and took a look down at the crown. There was something about it that seemed… compelling, in that moment.

“Well then, if you’re a princess, I’d better get to work on being a prince.”

And with that, he raised the crown above his head, and carefully placed it upon his brow.

What followed would be the first of Simon Petrikov’s misfortunes.


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon fights with a few outer demons of his, and despite winning, he still loses.

Simon stood in his apartment, stock still, barely even breathing. No, wait, he didn’t stand in his apartment. No, wait, he didn’t stand in his apartment. He stood upon a mountain, the sky above consumed in utter darkness, the ground below coated in a blanket of unbroken white. Except he wasn’t standing on a mountain, or even really standing anymore. A frigid sea enveloped him, the alien waters inhabited by a single, great, green snake. The snake advanced towards him, and with every inch, its skin soughed off, revealing ice and snow beneath the surface. In the end, as it became large in his vison, it was all scattered snow and diminishing ice in the water.

But now, Simon stood in none of those places. He stood in utter darkness, voices whispering, shouting, conspiring around him, cold and inhospitable. All at once, the voices became hush. It was in this moment that Simon began to fear. What was going on? Why what were these visions? Where was he? What were the voices? What did the snake represent? And why, of all people, was he the one to see this?

It was at this moment that any composure his thoughts had taken on was immediately shattered like a priceless and fragile artifact, as the chorus of voices raised up yet again, each voice droning a single message. And that message was one which did not carry a shred of kindness or understanding, a single word which bored into his mind.

“Submit.”

Submit. Submit to what? What was he supposed to submit to? The voices, the snake?

“Submit.”

And why would he submit? Why would he give in to… whatever was happening? What was happening? Why did it concern him?

“Submit.”

All he knew was that the voices called him to submit, submit to something, submit to someone. And all he knew was that he wasn’t. He didn’t know what was asking him to become submissive, but he wasn’t going to give into its demands. Because he knew, whatever was happening, it wasn’t a good thing.

“Submit.”

…

“No.”

Now there was a change in the voices. A rise in their intensity. A rise in whatever quality they had that gave them an air of cruelty. It resonated, made them seem stronger.

“Submit.”

Simon was only one man. Simon wasn’t even a strong man. Simon was not particularly brave or tough or daring, according ot his own opinion. But Simon wasn’t going to let force push him around.

“No.”

And again, there was a resurgence in the voices. More cruelty and unyielding power, like spikes being pounded into his skull.

“Submit!”

Simon could barely take it. Simon wanted to say yes, to simply stop this struggle. But that option fled his mind as quickly as it entered, and in that moment, he screamed out in response.

“No! I will never submit! You can fight all you want, but you aren’t going to take me! I swear, the earth may shake and the seas may dry up, but I will not submit, and you will not win!”

Upon the end of this shout, the voices became still, and the darkness unfolded. Simon once again stood in his apartment. He was out of breath, hands shaking, eyes out of focus, and shivering… shivering?

For some reason, he felt cold. Colder than he had ever felt. So, so cold…

And in a few moments, it passed, and he looked up at Betty. On her face was a look of horror. Simon stared down at his hands, looked over to windows that were fogged up, and then turned back to Betty. His voice shook.

“Betty, what just happened?”

Betty didn’t respond. She shook her head, and walked out, into the bedroom. Simon stood in place for a few moments, listening to the chugging of his heater, before following her into the bedroom. Peeking his door in, he saw Betty rummaging through the closet, a half-full duffel bag on the floor.

“Betty, what are you doing?”

She still did not respond. Still, she piled clothes, books, and a few assorted items into the bag, pulling it out into the living room. She immediately moved on to the bathroom, leaving the duffel bag on the living room table. It was at this moment that it sank in for Simon. Betty was leaving.

Betty was packing up everything she had, and might not be coming back.

As Betty emerged from the bathroom, putting all of her supplies and toiletries in her purse, Simon walked up to her, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“Betty, what’s happening? Why are you leaving? Is anything wrong?”

Now Simon saw her face again. There was sadness. Sadness, like he felt. But at the same time, there was fear in her face. Pure, unbridled fear.

“Simon, there is something wrong. There is something wrong with you. There is something very, very wrong with you.”

With that, she shook out of his grip, and pressed past him. Simon turned, tears welling up in his eyes as she pushed her paperwork into the duffel bag, zipped it up, and walked towards the door.

“Princess, please, don’t do this!”

As Betty opened the door, she took one last look back at Simon. He could see she was crying as well, and trying harder than he was to hide it. But it wasn’t long before she turned, and shut the door behind her.

Silence. For a few minutes more, silence. As Simon slumped to the floor, back resting against a wall, head hung, there was still more silence. But soon, that silence was broken.

It was broken by the sobs of Simon Petrikov.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, things get worse from here.


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon... he needs to record this. He needs people to see it.

Simon stared out of the window for the eighteenth time in almost two weeks. It still felt like yesterday when… when something happened. When he did or said or saw something that had made his fiance leave him, all of a sudden. He looked down at the letters in his hands, each a proclamation of his upcoming term at the university. But he couldn’t do it. Not after what had happened twelve days ago. Not after… he couldn’t even remember.

Did he see something, did he say something, did he do something, was something done to him, why did Betty leave, where did she go, would she ever come back, what was the scratching he heard at night what were the spots on his vision? All of this, all of this and more weighed on his mind, like stones being placed, one by one, crushing upon him, crushing everything he was. And he couldn’t explain any of it. He couldn’t explain the crown, couldn’t explain why he was growing paler, why his eyes had inexplicably turned grey. Cataracts? Schizophrenia? Was any of this real, or was it a nightmare he was in? Would all of it collapse, and would he… would he be happy?

He continued to wear the crown. Every few days he took it out of the safe he had it stored in, and he placed it upon his head again, and he didn’t know what it did, but he knew that it wasn’t good, and even though he knew he couldn’t stop doing it. five times, each time he seemed to see spots, spots of color and shadow in his vision, abstract things. And they lingered, even as the crown came off, turning faint but not nonexistent. He had… he had to tell someone. He had to keep a record.

A camcorder. Back when he was a simple grad student, he bought one. A shot-on-video, clumsy piece of work, but he wasn’t looking for quality, he was looking for something that worked. He’d bought it to capture video out in the field, but in truth, he’d almost never used it. But when it hummed to life as he pressed the power button, Simon knew that it would work. It had to work.

He stood back, and immediately forgot what he was going to say… how was he supposed to do this? Should he just go ahead and say, “I’ve got something magical and it’s messed up my brain?” He didn’t know. He didn’t even know, at this point, if it was him or the crown. And what would they think, anyone who found this tape? Especially anyone who was dissapointed with him over that earlier Enchiridion nonsense.

More importantly, why was he hesitating? Why was he simply standing here and thinking? Why wasn’t he doing anything? Saying anything? Why was he simply standing here and letting the tape run like this? Okay. First thing’s first for the tape, he had to have an introduction. He cleared his throat, did his best to have a smile. Should he smile? Did he even remember how to?

“Hey there, my name is Simon Petrikov, and I’ve run afoul of—”

Garbage. Pure and utter garbage. Garbage wrapped up with a false smile, as if he was a salesman advertizing a product. He needed to tell people, and he needed it to be credible. He needed to sound more serious.

“What I’m about to tell you may prove to be dist—”

No, that was cheesy. He was a professor of archaeology, not a horror movie host. He had to do something else. He had to… he had to keep it simple. He had to say something simple, but effective. Okay? Okay, let’s do this again.

“Hello. My name is Simon Petrikov. I am recording this tape so that people will know my story.”

Good. Good. Now… what else to say? Hm… well, in-between terms, he was working on specializing, going from general archaeology and specializing, like… an antiquarian, that was the word for it. It seemed like the word was about to slip and fall, but he caught it.

“I was studying to be an antiquarian of ancient artifacts. Now, I never believed in the supernatural myself, just had a fascination with superstitions…”

Should he keep that in? Whatever, he thought. How could it possibly hurt?

“… but everything changed when I came into contact with this item.”

It was at this point that a pit fromed into his stomach, as his feet took him closer to the safe. The place where the crown resided, that… that thing. Thing of evil. He slowly, carefully opened the doors, and took it out, making sure to present it to the camera.

“After purchasing the crown from an old dock worker in Scandinavia, I brought it home and excitedly showed it to my fiancee Betty,” but did he do that? Did it all happen like he’d said? He… he thought so. In his mind, the events transpired in that way, or at least… he thought they did. No time for doubt now, Simon. “And jokingly put it on my head just for a laugh or something…” As he placed it on his head, not only did the hallucinations come back, but he was beginning to… to slip, to not see his way through some sort of blizzard in his mind. He didn’t even remember what the joke was about now. His mind was being subsumed.

“… and that’s when it started… The visions… I fought with them…” He was becoming stirred by these recollections, but he didn’t care. He knew there were visions, at least. “Shouted at them until I realized it wasn’t real, it was the crown!” As he spoke, it solidified in his mind. This madness, all of it, it wasn’t him. It was all the crown’s doing. It had to be. He pulled it off of his head yet again.

“I quickly took it off… and saw my fiance in front of me… looking at me with such contempt.” Contempt? Yes… yes, it was contempt. It had to be, it absolutely had to be, because there was no way it would be anything else. “What had I said? What had I done when I wore this crown? All I know is I never saw Betty again.”

Silence. One minute, two minutes of silence. Simon simply stood there, crown in hands, waiting. Waiting for what, he thought? Nothing, he finally realized, as he walked over to the camcorder and shut off the recording. He was waiting for nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: And now you know why the events earlier in this fic differ from what Simon told to the camera.


End file.
